


How Frederick Got His Groove Back

by driventoraulinsanity (DarkDreamsOfHannigram)



Series: Frederick's Hidden Desires: Chilton/Reader [7]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6401731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDreamsOfHannigram/pseuds/driventoraulinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is from Frederick’s perspective. It is meant to fill in the gap in my “FIRST TIMES AND FUTURE PLANS” Chilton/Reader fic from the this series. The beginning part of that fic is that a researcher has come to the hospital and Frederick tries to charm her. She is sort of half interested/half taking pity on him and they go out on a date. At the end of that date, she kisses him. He waits two days to call and ask her out again. This fic tells what happened after the date, as well as a little about his mindset before he met her! (Also assumes he still stayed on as administrator after being shot and recovering.)</p>
<p>Thanks to DRGAYBELGIDEON on tumblr for getting me to write him again!</p>
<p>I had the letter O…and of course, the story revolves around an orgasm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Frederick Got His Groove Back

Frederick sat alone in his bedroom, idly tracing the scar that bisected his abdomen. It had long since healed, but he knew it would never leave him, even if all traces of it vanished. He had been in the hospital for almost three months after Hannibal Lecter had set him up, resulting in being shot in the face, and only had the occasional visitor from the Baltimore State Hospital’s administration, when he was well enough to answer some questions. They were obviously concerned about improving safety after all the incidents; breaches that seemed to revolve around Frederick. It was as if they somehow blamed him for his assaults. 

It hardly mattered, though, he reflected. Nothing could be directly linked to his failures. Bureaucratically, his position was safe. But psychologically, he was on thin ice, and he knew it. It was rare that he didn’t experience a night when he awoke in a cold sweat. He had invested in a much more advanced security system, but any sounds in the night woke him instantly. And the nightmares…perhaps they had lessened when he got out of the hospital, but they still plagued him.

So here he was, as often happened, wide awake at three in the morning. It was blessedly still outside; no wind in the trees, yet he still couldn’t quiet his mind. He’d been back at the hospital for two weeks now. In the past, he’d easily been able to stop thinking about work when he got home, but difficult cases, administrative problems, and employee matters now flitted through his mind like buzzing insects. On top of all that, there was a researcher coming, some woman on an NIH grant, and he was strongly encouraged to play nice when she showed up the next day.  _Well, today, actually_ , he reflected. He had to get up in under four hours. Chilton stared at the clock and sighed. 

_Should I try again_? he thought ruefully. Another side effect of this unrelenting anxiety was one that he was loathe to even admit to himself. He had not been able to have an orgasm since he was shot. He knew physiologically he was fine. They’d tested every system of his body for damage after what Abel Gideon had done before, including urological and sexual performance. But ever since he’d been back from his second hospital stay, he was able to become erect, but something always interrupted the flow of his thoughts. He’d lose his hardness before he could finish. So even the relief of masturbation was denied him. Before, if he woke up in the night, it would help him get back to sleep. Now it was just another thing to be frustrated about.

Ultimately, he decided against it. If he failed to come to orgasm again, it would depress him even more. Starting up at the ceiling, Frederick chose to just get up and go in to the hospital early. He told himself it was to take care of some paperwork before the meddling researcher interrupted his day, but he knew that was a lie that he told himself. 

… . .

Dr. Frederick Chilton sat in his office, anticipating his visitor. He had formed an image in his mind of what this woman would look like - sensible square brown shoes sprang into his mind. That was the usual attire of researchers working on a government grant, he found. She’d probably be either straight out of grad school, too young for him to have any real interest, or older than him by at least two decades.  

He tried not to let his mouth hang open when she walked in. This woman was decidedly  _not_  what he was expecting. Maybe less than ten years younger than him, by the way she talked and carried herself, and knew the ins and outs of the mental healthcare system in the United States. But she wouldn’t have been considered a day over 30 by someone who was less adept at assessing these things than him. He used his old “Baltimore is quite a fun town if you have the right guide” line that he’d used numerous times in the past, and wanted to crawl in a hole and die when she responded “yes, I know, I live there.” But she must’ve seen his mortification because she softened and excused it with a delicate, empathic smile, and changed the subject.

They spent the next few hours going over the records she needed. He tried to stick to the subject and the work at hand. It must’ve helped his image, displaying his expertise without showing off, because at the end of the day, she said she’d take him up on his offer if it still stood.  _As if she had to ask_ , he thought. He thought he was imagining things when she looked him up and down with a gleam of mischievous interest in her dark eyes. 

Later that night, Frederick sat alone in a quiet bar in an older part of town. One less likely to be frequented by any of the other doctors at the BSH. The last thing he wanted them to see was him crashing and burning, or even being stood up. He was also grateful she’d declined his invitation to dinner, opting for drinks after she’d finished work for the day. He couldn’t imagine being able to eat. Additionally, he’d taken a cab there, knowing himself well enough to predict he’d drink too much out of nervousness.

Five minutes later than their agreed upon time, he’d become convinced she wouldn’t show, when he finally spotted her walking to the corner booth he’d taken away from the watching eyes at the bar. Her dress was tight, but not too low cut, for which he was thankful.

“You’re surprised I showed up,” she said, sliding in next to him.

“Why did you?”

“I was interested to know if you really were interested and not just playing a game.”

“I haven’t been in the game for a while,” he responded ruefully.

“Have you fully recovered? I wouldn’t want to hurt you. At least, not like that.”

Did she mean what he thought by that statement? His mouth must have been hanging open, because she laughed softly. He closed it, and smiled in spite of himself.

They flirted back and forth like this until the place closed down. Frederick was absolutely sure she was into some very interesting things. His imagination began to run away as to what those things could be. Clearly, she was a dominant personality. He liked to think he was, but the idea of a woman like this taking away some of his control, cracking his façade,,,it made his head spin, and he was sure it wasn’t just because of the cocktails.

“Can I call you?” Chilton asked nervously as they were both waiting for their respective cabs outside the bar.

“I think so,” she said. “Why, is there something wrong with your phone?”

Before he could think of a comeback, she pulled him into the space between the buildings, and kissed him hard. Helpfully, she guided his flailing arms around her waist, and he remembered to kiss her back.

As her cab rounded the corner down the block, she broke the kiss and whispered into his ear: “I think we can have a lot of fun together, Doctor Chilton.” Her breath on his skin felt like the first warm breeze of spring after a seemingly endless winter.

… . .

The cab ride home was a complete blur for Frederick. Between being somewhat drunk and not having the capacity to respond to his date after she vanished into her own cab, he was struck speechless.

When he got home, his house had taken on a state of unreality. He realized he had been seeing the place though old eyes, ones that had been traumatized. Now, instead of seeing blood and death everywhere, he saw places he could sit with her and kiss…

His hands traveled down the front of his trousers, and he realized he was getting aroused. Chilton took a deep breath and straightened his back. Purposefully, he strode into his bedroom and began frantically getting out of his clothes.

A little tipsy, he got a bit tangled up in his boxers as they bound around his ankles, and he fell back onto the bed with a startled laugh. He never laid on top of his comforter, and the silk blend felt cool on his overheated skin.

He hadn’t noticed how flushed and hot he was. _I must have been blushing all evening_ , he thought, but wasn’t embarrassed for some reason. She was trying to _make_ him blush, and it worked. The thought of involuntary reactions in her presence made him realize how painfully hard he was. For the first time in as long as he could remember, no intrusive thoughts broke through the thin shell of his battered psyche. The only thing that invaded his mind was her; her scent, the taste of her whisky lips. How her breasts pressed into his body as they embraced. The kiss had only lasted a minute, perhaps, but it was like exploring a whole universe as he recalled each detail, one after the other.

His hands roamed his body, skimming over a sensitive nipple, avoiding the scar, but playing over each of his ribs. Down over the crest of his hip, and finally tentatively running two fingers from the underside of the head of his now throbbing cock, down to the small thatch of hair at the base. He breathed in sharply. Frederick closed his fingers, one after the other, until the pressure was too much to bear. He began to stroke himself, languidly at first, but faster before he even knew what he was doing.

In his mind, he pictured himself, bound. She was riding him. He could almost feel her, using him for her pleasure. He realized that’s what he wanted; to be treated like an object. It would take him out of his thoughts, to focus on the needs of another.

Frederick’s eyes flew open as he felt a familiar, but long-absent heat pooling in his abdomen. He moaned loudly, slowed his movements; but his hips involuntarily rose, and he began thrusting into his hand. Pre-cum had slickened it, and he gripped the edge of the bed hard. His breath felt like fire in his throat, harsh and rasping as he heard himself uttering hitched screams.

The orgasm which had been building slowly now tipped past the point of no return. It went on and on, thick ropes of cum streaking his chest, all the way up to his neck. As it began to subside he realized he was crying. Tears of joy and relief slipped hot down his cheeks. When it was over, he lay in stunned repose, sobs wracking his body.

When he regained his senses, he wiped his face with his dry hand, cramped from holding the bed so strongly. It was after three in the morning, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he remembered it was Friday, and he didn’t have to get up for work in a few hours. Frederick finally stood on unstable legs, and went to clean himself off before pouring himself one more drink. For the first time in longer than he remembered, he found himself looking forward to the future.


End file.
